


Christmas Sucked for Sam

by JAYJEN11



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Dean trying to make Christmas better, Gen, Sam not coping with Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9248126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAYJEN11/pseuds/JAYJEN11
Summary: Title says it all. Set around season 9





	

Christmas sucked for Sam, ever since he could remember it had sucked and at no point had it ever really gotten better no matter how much Dean tried.

His first recollection was going to the charity stores with their father and getting clothes as ‘gifts’, that was when he was really little.

Then he started kindy and in class they would spend December making paper streamers and popcorn decorations and had stories read to them about Santa. He can still to do this day remember their father snorting about the big, fat perv in the red suit that sucked money from people, it had taken a couple of years of clenching onto Dean’s hand and cringing away from Santa before Dean convinced him he wasn’t the sucking monster his father said he was.

Then as he got older their father gave up on any kind of pretence at all and would drop them off at the charity store with fifty bucks between them and say “Merry Christmas, make sure Sam gets clothes he can grow into!”

It was Dean who had tried to keep the pretence up for him, somehow, be it by stealing money or the actual gift, but there would always be something at the end of Sam’s bed on Christmas morning & Dean would say Santa had visited. It took a little while for it to sink into Sam’s head that Dean never had anything at the end of his bed, only Sam did. That was how well Dean protected him and cared for him, and even then, when Dean was nine or ten, he was protecting Sam from the evils out there, or in this case the reality that Santa did indeed not exist just as their father always grumbled. These days, decades on, Sam still feels bad about that and how Dean lost his childhood to raising his baby brother. Once he had realised what Dean was doing he actually thought about getting a gift to stick at the end of Dean’s bed then changed his mind, letting Dean live the illusion that Sam still believed.

Sam also remembers clearly, every single second, every single detail, every single dust mite floating in the air the day it all came crashing down. The day Dean, in a fit of anger at having to stay in, having to look after his pain in the ass little brother, having to answer the million and one questions his curious brother always had, blurted out that Santa was not real.

He knew Dean regretted it the instant he said it, he knows Dean still regrets now that fit of anger that ruined his innocent childhood.

Santa was not real, their father was a super hero and he was going out so he didn’t have to listen to his whiney little voice anymore.

When Sam thinks about it now, over twenty years later, he still gets echoes of the sinking pit he felt in his stomach when Dean yelled that. And Dean did try to make up for it, he truly did and Sam appreciates all he did, even if he did steal girls’ toys accidentally but that Christmas sucked monumentally between being told Santa didn’t exist and being told their father hunted monsters, monsters that could hurt or kill Sam and Dean, no matter what Dean said!

The only good thing about that Christmas, about any Christmas really, the only thing that made him smile as he reminisced was the amulet, Dean loved that amulet even though he said he would give it back if Sam really wanted to give it to dad but Sam had seen how he grinned and there was no way he was taking it back, hell Dean was more like a father to him then John was anyway. He also remembers Bobby patting him on the back and telling him he made a good choice the next time they showed up at his house and he saw it around Dean’s neck instead of Johns.

For months he watched as Dean played with it, stroked it and adjusted it as he got used to wearing it. Early on he used to take it off to shower but eventually it just became a part of him and he never even thought about it anymore, unless it went missing in a fight, then he was frantic until it was found and returned to correct spot, around his neck.

But yet again even that memory was tarnished by the vision of Dean throwing it into a motel room bin, Castiel pissed off at God and Dean jaded by the message they were given in heaven. He had wanted to pick it up, Sam really had, but they were living out of motel rooms and a car, there was no way Sam could hide it from his brother, and at the time he didn’t want to make him angrier than he already was. That decision haunts him to this day.

As they got older Christmas never got better. If they were lucky their father was home for Christmas Eve night and they would sit around to some take out diner meal but more times than not he was keeping a bar stool warm and shuffled home after midnight only to fall onto a bed or couch and pass out, snoring loudly through his whiskey haze.

One time pre-teen Sam had actually been invited to a friend’s house for Christmas Eve dinner and he had been so excited. Dean had been happy for him too, telling him to go and he and dad would be fine. When he got home later that night with plastic containers full of left overs he found out dad had never come home and Dean had eaten carton macaroni cheese by himself. Sam had felt sick in the stomach for leaving Dean all alone and had cried as he quickly opened up the containers and dragged them to the table in front of the tv before making Dean eat all the left overs. He even ate some with him and their Christmas that year had been lying in bed whimpering from eating too much food too late at night, even if it was the best meal they had ever eaten to date.

Probably the best Christmas they had was when they found themselves in Bobby’s neck of the woods and had pulled up there. Bobby, the grumpy old grouch, had actually been excited and had gone out and cut down a tree and told the boys to hunt around in the attic for Christmas decorations he had shoved up there after his wife passed.

“They don’t need that crap Bobby; they know it aint real.” Joh had growled

“Shut up and let them be kids just for one damn day John.” Bobby had snarled in return and Sam and Dean had gone dashing up the ladder before their father could talk them out of it.

By the time Sam hit his teens there was no more pretence that they were a normal family. Dean explained why they salted and sigiled wherever they went and John had him reading newspapers and doing research in libraries. In between times Sam and Dean were out running, wrestling, fighting, getting knife practice, target practice and Dean even taught Sam how to drive the car.

Sam had tried to stay a kid as long as he could, went to school, attended classes, for actual learning, not just picking up chicks like Dean did but when it came to Christmas, Easter, any of the major holidays the Winchester cynicism had finally leeched into him.

Jessica had tried to bring back the magic, like most college students she was a huge fan of any holiday and she used to have the apartment covered in all sorts of crap depending on what day they were celebrating, but Christmas was big for her. She had a proper family so she was used to the tree, the decorations, the carols in the background, the cookies and the eggnog; even she admitted she wasn’t going to attempt cooking a real meal, but her family had been nice to him and he had appreciated the two Christmas days he had shared with them. But even through all that he had felt like he was on the outside looking in, mocking these people for celebrating a fake birthday at the wrong time of the year and more acknowledging a pagan tradition. At those times he almost missed his dad and Dean and an anonymous diner. More than that he just missed Dean who wouldn’t answer the phone even at Christmas the stubborn bastard.

 

After Jess had passed and Sam was officially back on the road with his brother, Dean again had tried to acknowledge the day but he wanted nothing to do with it. Didn’t want a reminder of Jess and her happiness and that was ok because ghosts, ghouls, the good, the bad and the ugly, seemed to come out at Christmas, maybe it was families coming together and the dead felling left out; maybe it was the echo of the pagan traditions bringing out the beasties but the good news is they were always kept busy enough that Christmas eve usually consisted of a takeout meal and first aid before passing out and starting again the next day, be it Christmas or not.

 

His worst ever Christmas was the year Dean asked for one before he went to hell. Sam did not want to acknowledge that day, did not want that as a reminder of another loved one he would not spend any more Christmas’s with but Sam was as immune to Dean’s puppy dog eyes as Dean was to his. That Christmas hurt him deep inside and even now, six years later, he rubbed his chest feeling the pain and the tightness he had felt right from that day until the day Dean was torn apart by hell hounds.

 

He would have thought Dean would have been over Christmas as well, with dad dying and then Sam jumping into the cage, but turns out having a girlfriend with a kid kept the magic alive. Don’t ask Sam what he did that year, he had no clue, but he can imagine being soulless meant he was drunk in a bar probably giving it to some skank shoved up against a toilet cubicle door. Now he had his soul back he had no idea how his junk hadn’t fallen off in that year, he can only assume he had the intelligence to keep it gloved.

But Sam had come back, had dragged Dean back into the life and bang they were back to sitting in diners over burgers and pie before going back to whatever motel room they were staying in or whatever house they were squatting in before sinking into a bottle of whiskey.

Dean had tried to have a chick flick moment with Sam about his aversion to Christmas. It didn’t take a scientist to figure it out when three hundred and sixty-three days a year Sam would only drink beer or have one shot if he was wounded, but for two days a year, if their job allowed, he would sink into the bottom of a whiskey bottle and hibernate in whichever room they were in until the whole damn holiday was over. The Winchesters didn’t do chick flicks though so when Sam told him to fuck off and mind his own business Dean just shrugged and went to the other side of the room with his own bottle of whiskey and sat there silently watching as Sam slowly slid into the bottle and the depression before he would do what any big brother would do and got up to tip Sammy into bed. He had tried to get Castiel on side but the Angel had a hard time trying to understand the importance of convincing Sam to celebrate Jesus’s birthday, which Castiel confirmed is a completely different time of the year.

 

You could be led to believe that being in a relationship for a year, with Amelia, would drag him into the Christmas spirit, but it was no secret she was more fucked up then he was and they made an awesome couple as they sat in front of the fake fire, sharing a bottle of tequila talking about her husband and his brother; completely dysfunctional relationship had he been thinking rationally, but Dean was gone to who knew where, disappearing in a spray of black goo, and Sam grabbed at the first thing that made him feel alive and remotely human. It was probably a good thing Don did come back, they would have dragged each other down if they had continued living together.

 

Now here they were in the Men of Letters bunker. Had been here for over a half a year and Dean was out there talking about Christmas decorations and a proper Christmas dinner now they had an actual home.

This wasn’t home, to Sam it wasn’t, and no matter how much Dean tried Sam couldn’t nest. He hadn’t ever had a home, the closest was the short period of time he lived with Jess, and he wanted to ask how could he nest when he had nothing. His entire life had fit into a duffel bag and computer bag; he didn’t know what to do with a whole room to himself. He felt cold, he felt alone and he didn’t feel safe, not having Dean in the same room as him. Dean seemed to relish in the freedom of having his own room at the other end of the hall from Sam and Sam got it, they had been two teenage boys and then two grown men, trying to do boy stuff and man stuff in close confines, always having to take each other into consideration but now Dean was all the way down the other end of the hall Sam felt abandoned and like the little kid he used to be, no matter what had happened in between then and now.

 

Now he heard a bang and a crash as Dean attempted cooking a turkey from scratch, helped out by some You Tube cooking channel he had found. When Sam left his room he knew he was going to see fairy lights flashing around the edges of the library and the Christmas tree Dean had stuck in the communications room after decorating it with some cheap ass decorations he bought. He thanked God or whoever that Dean wasn’t into carols but he was still playing some forties crap on the record player, that novelty not having worn off yet. He felt the familiar tightness in his chest and lump of tears in his throat he felt every year and suddenly knew he had to get out of here, away from this ‘home’ and away from Dean’s domesticity.

“I’m going out.” Sam said as he grabbed his jacket from a hook in the kitchen

“But I’m putting the turkey on.”

“I’m going out.” Sam repeated, clenching his jaw to hold in all the pent up emotions

“When will you be back?” Dean asked on a sigh after looking into Sam’s eyes and knowing what he saw there.

“Dunno.” He shrugged and turned away

“Sam…” Dean started but heard the door slam. When he looked back he saw the keys still there so fuck knows how Sam was going to get to wherever he needed to go to relieve the tension Dean could almost see vibrating through his body.

 _Message me and let me know you’re ok_ Dean messaged before going back to cooking feeling nowhere as enthusiastic now Sam wasn’t here to share it with. In his mind Dean had seen Sam shuffling out of his room, pouting and sitting in the library pretending to read before curiosity got to him and he came in to watch Dean before finally getting involved in the cooking process, Dean had pictured teasing and bickering as they did this together and he had hoped, deep down, that they were starting another tradition.

He should have known better, no matter how hard he tried, Sam had never had a proper Christmas and he blamed himself for that completely and he had no idea how to fix it.

After putting the turkey in the oven he walked down the hall to Sam’s room, if that’s what you could call it. Dean had his guns up and his knives on display, he had pictures of mum and dad beside the bed and he had his memory foam mattress that he had bought and he and Sam dragged into the bunker. Sam had nothing. There were research books on the desk and bedside table, his clothes were still in the duffel on a chair in the corner of the room and he was still sleeping on the fifty-year-old dead guy mattress. The only thing in the room that could be considered remotely personal was the IPod on the bedside table and Dean sighed in defeat because he had no idea how to get through the wall Sam had put up now they lived here. It had taken him a month before he stopped getting up in the middle of the night and walking down here to make sure Sammy was ok, it had taken another couple of months for him to not continuously wake up in the middle of the night, not having Sammy’s breathing as a calming lullaby. Even now he still sometimes shot up in bed and held his breath thinking he heard Sam call him in the middle of the night.

He sighed as he walked out of the room and went down the hall into the library and set up his computer to watch a movie. He had hoped he and Sam could watch Die Hard but now he turned on Bill Murray’s Scrooged and went to the kitchen to grab a beer. He wanted whiskey, he wanted to sedate himself with Hunters Helper, he really did, but Sammy was out there somewhere, by himself, with no way to get home and Dean wasn’t relaxing until he was back in the door.

Just as the movie was finishing Dean’s cell rang and he jumped at the sudden noise before grabbing it out of his pocket

“Sammy?”

“Is this Dean?” a female voice asked

“Who’s this? Where’s Sam?” Dean growled as he stood up and started heading to the kitchen to get the car keys and his jacket

“Uh there’s a guy here, big guy, and he’s pretty trashed and he keeps talking about Dean so I figured you were the one to ring?” she made it sound like a question

“Where is he?” he growled and she gave the name of the bar a town over from them.

 

Dean walked through the doors and looked at the bunch of misfits holding the bar up. He looked around the room and his eyes met a young blonde waitress. She glanced at him and took in his demeanour before nodding at a corner of the room so he guessed she realised who he was. He looked past the Christmas lights, past the juke box playing Christmas songs and past the empty pool tables and saw in a dark corner, hidden away from everyone, Sam. He had a bottle in front of him and it was half empty. Considering he never drank Dean was surprised he was still in the chair.

Beside the bottle was a burger and fries, untouched. Dean went to the bar and ordered a beer before grabbing an empty glass and made his way to the back corner.

“How’s it going Sammy?” he asked as he slid into the chair opposite his brother’s and spread his legs to get comfortable.

“Dean, hey...” he slurred

“You eating that?” Dean asked

“Nah got it for you.” Sam said as he kept looking down at the table. Dean put his hand out to touch it, the food was stone cold

“Have you eaten?”

“Yeah got tired of waiting.”

“How can you get tired of waiting if I never knew I was meant to be here?” Dean snapped, “I was cooking us a meal at home.”

“It’s not home, God please…just stop calling it that.” Sam hissed and Dean poured himself a glass from the bottle

“Sam it’s the closest thing we’ve ever had to a home.”

“Yeah until something happens.”

“Like what? What are you talking about Sam?”

“You’re home Dean, you and me we’re home. That concrete bunker? That’s not home.”

“Sam a home is…”

“It’s where you feel safe and protected.”

“That place has more wards and sigils then we’ve ever heard of.”

“And what if something happens to you? I can’t get to you from where I am, not in time.”

“Sam nothing is going to happen to me in that bunker. There is a reason it’s call a bunker. It’s home now.”

“Home was mum, she died because of me. Home was dad, he died because of you. For me home was Jess but she died because of me and then there’s Lisa who’s mind you wiped, and Amelia who I gave up. Home was Bobby but we got him killed and then there’s Kevin, gone. The only constant is you and me and the Impala. Something’s going to happen.”

“Nothing’s going to happen. Come on let’s get you home…back to the bunker” he quickly reworded when he saw Sam’s head fly up and his mouth open

Dean nodded to the waitress as he walked behind Sam out of the bar, ready to catch him if he dropped, then put his hand on his back and guided him towards the car when Sam started ambling off in another direction.

It was a silent trip back to the bunker, Sam with his head lolling against the window while he snuffled and mumbled to himself and Dean concentrating with the music turned down low. He was frowning as he looked at his brother who was the absolute definition of misery.

It actually wasn’t that late at night when they pulled back into the bunker. Dean could make a night of misery last until the sun came up but Sam was a cheap drunk and had only been gone a couple of hours, Dean could only hope this relaxed him enough to sleep through the night.

He got him through the door and down the stairs of the bunker and heard him huff as they walked past the Christmas tree before muttering under his breath about fucking Christmas lights.

He then got him down the hall to his room and pushed him onto the bed before leaning to pull off his gigantic boots.

“Stupid room, stupid bed.”

“What’s going on Sammy?”

“I can’t sleep in this bed.”

“I told you buy a new mattress.”

“It’s not the fucking mattress you moron it’s you.”

“Me?” Dean yelped

“You don’t get it; you don’t fucking get it.” Sam suddenly sat up and yelled

“If you don’t tell me I can’t help you.” Dean snapped. Normal Sam drunk was happy but when he was maudlin to start with alcohol dragged him down hard

“You are home Dean.”

“Yeah you said that.”

“You are home. Where you are is home. Don’t you get that?”

“I’m here…”

“No you’re down the other end of the fucking hall. God.” He huffed and threw his hands in the air like Dean was an idiot, “Every single time I have woken up from the minute I can remember you have been there, right beside me. Home, to me, is you. Not some stupid cold ass concrete bunker.”

“Sam lie back down.” Dean said as he looked at his swaying brother and Sam flopped back on the bed, his hair falling into his eyes. “Sam we’re adults now dude, we have our own rooms but we still live together, I’m still right here, I’m not going anywhere.” He said as he pushed the hair out of his face.

“If something happens to you I won’t hear it and I won’t get to you in time.”

“Sam nothing is going to happen to me here and hey I’m meant to be looking out for you, I’m the big brother here.”

“You could go somewhere, you should. Cas could make Lisa remember again.” Sam gave Dean whiplash with his quick subject change

“I don’t want that, I don’t want to go back there, it’s like you said, it’s you and me.”

“No Dean you don’t get it. You know what real life is like, you know what you’re missing out on being stuck with me, I don’t know any different.”

“Well I’m trying to show you buddy but you keep fighting me.”

“Cause every time something good happens, every time we get a break, every time we get to relax for just a second, something goes wrong. Something’s going to happen.”

“Dude nothing is going to happen. Just relax and get some sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Stay with me?” Sam asked quietly

“Dude it’s still early and I’ve got the turkey in the oven I need to get out.”

“Fucking Christmas.” Sam muttered

“Look let me just go get the turkey and I’ll come back ok?” Dean felt like he was talking to his ten-year-old brother again not a grown up man.

“Forget it. Don’t let me ruin your Christmas.” Sam mumbled before rolling away from Dean and looking at the bedroom wall.

“Too late for that.” Dean sighed and walked out of the room, leaving the door open so he could hear if Sam called out or tried to get up and fell over or something.

He went into the kitchen and pulled the turkey out of the oven; it was a little overcooked but since it wasn’t getting eaten it didn’t really matter; he then went and poured an almost full glass of whiskey before flopping into one of the hard chairs in the library.

He looked around the room and thought about all the things he had been planning for the bunker but he wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t stay here if Sam wasn’t happy. He understood where Sam was coming from, the Impala had been his bedroom, his dining room and his study. He had literally grown up in the backseat; Dean hadn’t been much better but at least he had the vague wisp of what real family life was meant to be like whereas Sam had nothing but the smell of leather and gun powder.

Dean finished his drink before sighing and getting up to take down the Christmas tree and lights. He had hoped that decorating the place would make Sam feel more Christmassy and more at home but it seemed to have the opposite effect and Dean didn’t want to traumatise him anymore then he already was.

 

Sam woke up in the early hours of the morning with a thumping headache and the urge to drink a gallon of water. He scuffed into the bathroom for headache tablets and then shuffled down to the kitchen. After drinking a couple of glasses of water he walked out into the library and looked around, he had a vague feeling something was missing but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. When he smelt the pine of the Chritmas tree he turned to look and it was gone. That’s when Sam realised the Christmas lights were gone as well.

He sighed, he had done it, he had finally managed to bring Dean down to his level and fucking ruin Christmas for everyone.

“Fucking Christmas” he sighed as he went back to his room and pulled on clothes. He may hate Christmas but he loved his brother and he wasn’t going to ruin it for him.

 

Dean woke up the next morning to the smell of cooking and sighed as he rolled out of bed. He had actually slept the night through for a change but obviously Sammy hadn’t because with the amount of alcohol he sank he should still be passed out.

He went into the kitchen and stopped dead as he looked around him. Set out on the table, even though was nine o’clock in the morning, was a full Christmas roast with vegetables. The Christmas tree was propped in the corner with all the decorations back on it and scattered around the room were more pine branches with popcorn decorations woven through them. The Christmas lights were flicking merrily way inside a glass lantern in the middle of the table and there were carols coming out of the laptop on the bench

“Sam?”

“Merry Christmas Dean.” Sam said and handed Dean a cup of coffee

“What? No eggnog?”

“Maybe later it’s a little early for that.”

“What’s going on?”

“Look Dean all I ask is that you give me time. I’m sure eventually I’ll start to think of this place as our home…”

“No Sam if you don’t want to stay here we don’t have to…”

“Come on, it’s a roof and four walls, it’s free, it’s magical, I still have no idea how we are getting power or water, but it’s a place we can call a base. You’re right, it’s better than anything we have ever had and with your help maybe I can make it feel more like home.”

“Yeah Sammy we can do that.”

“You know I don’t like Christmas, I can’t help it, I try I really do but every now and then everything just gets too much and I have to get out.”

“I get it Sam I do; I don’t think I can ever tell you how much I hate that you hate Christmas. If I had just shut my mouth…”

“Dean you were just a kid who had his kid brother dumped on him. Ida been pissed off too.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“Dean that’s decades ago and one Christmas in a long line of fucked up Christmas’s but I’ll get there, I promise but I’m sorry I’m dragging you down with me”

“We’re brothers, what you go through I go through and vice versa, we’ve only made it this far because of that. Yeah we’ve had some fights but its still you me and against everything else. And Sam we can move your room or mine so that we’re closer together, I’m not gonna lie it’s been hard for me too not being in the same room as well.”

“No you’re right I was being stupid; it was the alcohol talking.”

“Alright one day at a time hey and I tell you man you gotta get a memory foam.”

“Yeah yeah, anyway Merry Christmas Dean.” Sam said and pulled a present from under the counter.

Dean’s face lit up as he opened it to reveal Bob Segar and Led Zeppelin on vinyl.

“Merry Christmas Sam.” Dean said a few minutes later as he came back into the kitchen and Sam unwrapped the latest Game of Thrones book.

They sat down to their Christmas dinner at ten o’clock in the morning with Bob Segar playing in the background and Christmas lights flickering on the table.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from. It's not very good but it kept popping into my head every time I tried to sleep so I had to write it.


End file.
